Christmas at Hogwarts
by belstine
Summary: What happens when Hermione gets pranked into drinking a love potion? I don't own anything, all rights to respective owners!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Christmas at the Hogwarts dorms had been an uneventful day, and vaguely disappointing, which was all the more surprising considering practically every student had decided to stay at school during the holiday break. Harry had, obviously, stayed at school, because neither he nor the Dursleys wanted to be in the vicinity of each other. He, Hermione, and Ron would have gone to stay at the Burrow, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, after many years, were on their second honeymoon. Ron had told her that Fred and George had gotten the tickets to Bora Bora for themselves initially, for a meeting with a huge company that would have taken Weasley's Wizard Wheezes international, but the dates for the meeting had been changed, and the tickets were nonrefundable. That story was a secret, however—to Arthur and Molly Weasley, it was simply a generous gift from two affectionate sons. Hermione would have visited her parents over the vacation, but Ron and Harry had convinced her otherwise; they swore their Hogsmeade trips wouldn't be as fun if she left, and she had to agree that everything was better when the three of them stuck together.

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed. It was late morning, and she had to meet Harry and Ron in the dining hall in ten minutes, but she hadn't opened her presents yet, and she was too eager, and couldn't wait another second. One was wrapped in plain blue paper—from Harry. The package was dense when she picked it up, and she knew immediately that it was a book. She tore off the wrapping paper eagerly and uncovered a handsome, leather-bound novel entitled _The Life of an Auror: an Honest and True Account_. She smiled—she knew that Harry had wanted to become an Auror, and lately, he had begun pressing the idea on the Ron and her. Attached was a small note: _I hope this takes your mind off of SPEW for a few minutes. Have a wonderful Christmas. Love, Harry._

She knew that if she opened the book she wouldn't put it down until she finished it, and she didn't have time for that, so she instead moved on to her other presents. Her parents had also gotten her a book, although it wasn't magic-related like Harry's. It was heavier than Harry's book, and also much larger. She tore off the shiny silver paper— _Multivariable Calculus._ Hermione's parents had become worried with the curriculum at Hogwarts when the only mathematics Hermione could demonstrate to them was a long Arithmancy chart, which her parents only smiled tightly at, with an expression that clearly indicated that they did not consider that real math. Since then, they had begun sending her textbooks in various that muggles studied: mathematics, physics, and English. She already knew a considerable amount of math, so she assumed the textbook they sent her was university-level.

There was another package that was wrapped in a stiff box, and she immediately recognized that as a gift from Mrs. Weasley. Opening it, she found it filled with homemade fudge. Underneath the box of fudge was a thick, woolen scarf, with the initials _H.G_ embroidered on the hem.

Her heart warmed in appreciation of Mrs. Weasley, who despite being on vacation, managed to make sure everyone got his or her presents on Christmas day. She admired her for allowing her entire family to be part of the Order, and most of all, for taking care of Harry. She and Mrs. Weasley were never incredibly close, but Hermione always respected her for loving Harry like one of her own sons.

Taking a bit of fudge, she began reaching for another present when there was a tap on her dorm window. Looking up, she noticed a stern-looking silvery gray owl perched on her windowsill. Attached to its leg was a letter.

Hermione quickly opened the windowsill and removed the letter from the owl's leg. The bird gazed inside her room imperiously, searching for its reward, but Hermione could only offer him fudge. He stared at it for a moment, almost affronted by this meager offering, and with a regal flourish of its wing, soared off. She shrugged.

She was about to open the scroll and read whom it was from, but she noticed the time and— _she was late._ The boys would be waiting for her, and as they had planned on reaching Hogsmeade before there was too much of a rush, they might have gone ahead without her. She scrambled with the letter still clutched in her palm, throwing on her coat and scarf and sped as fast as she could to the dining hall.

She scurried to the dining hall, the letter in her fist. She found Harry at the Gryffindor table, in their usual spots, and with a heavy sigh, sat down across from them.

"Hermione!" Harry said genially. She smiled.

"Where's Ron?" she asked.

"Ron? Oh, he went to the bathroom, actually. Told him it was best to go before we went to Hogsmeade. Did you plan on doing something there?"

"Oh, no, actually, I was looking forward to just browsing. A trip to Honeyduke's sounds fun. I've been craving their chocolate. The kind with the firewhiskey in them." They both chuckled.

Just then, Ron appeared, and she smiled at him.

"Hello, Ron," she said.

"Hey there, Hermione," he said a bit sheepishly.

Their relationship had been fairly silent recently. It had teetered between friendship and something more, and it seemed like neither was making the first moves to bridge that gap. She knew Ron must be too bit nervous and unsure, but she wasn't sure why she hadn't made any moves herself yet. She didn't know why didn't want to. Ron was wonderful, and everyone seemed to think there was something between them, but she wasn't sure about them yet. As a result, their conversations were fairly awkward and short, with Harry being the intermediary most of the time. Hermione knew this probably wasn't too much fun for Harry, and Ron probably realized it too; so today they were both determined to keep everything as light and fun as possible.

"Shall we go?" Harry asked. They nodded.

"Hey, Hermione, what's that?" Ron asked as they stood up, pointing to the letter in her fingers.

"Oh! That's um—" Hermione began, but she never finished because someone bumped into her, rather roughly, and in the process wrenched the letter from her fingers.

"What's this?" jeered Pansy Parkinson, unfurling the letter with her bony, pallid fingertips. Her face had an ugly, twisted sneer. Her eyes popped open in surprise as she read the top of letter, "A love letter? From _Victor Krum?"_

Ron's head snapped up to stare at Pansy. Pansy's face seemed to glow with the grotesque grin that spread across her face, distorting her features.

"Ah, yes, _My Dearest Hermione,_ " she began, and Hermione swallowed nervously as Pansy continued, " _I know it has been many months, but even now, I think of you often. I still remember pulling you out of the lake in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, and I must say, even now, you are the person it would most hurt me to lose—_ aww, how sweet, he's still quite fancies you," Pansy snickered. The Slytherin table burst into peals of laughter, seemingly led by Draco Malfoy, whose blond head bobbed up and down behind Crabbe, whose enormous shoulder blocked Malfoy's entire frame. The laughter wasn't confined to the Slytherin's—Hermione swore she saw Parvati turn her face away, her hand covering her mouth, her shoulders shuddering. Angry tears stung Hermione's eyes, but she mostly blamed herself for not keeping the letter in her own room.

"Shall I continue?" Pansy asked as the Slytherin's cheered, "all right— _Everything has begun to seem quite empty without you—"_

"Stop it," Hermione growled, her face red, "Give that back."

"Or what," Pansy drawled, "you'll get _Krum_ to take it from me?"

The laughter intensified. Hermione seethed and opened her mouth to respond, but Harry stepped forward. His mouth was pressed into a hard line, his jaw set, and his eyes were deadly serious, green darts.

"Give the letter back to Hermione," he said slowly. His voice was soft, but still managed to somehow carry over the laughter, which was quickly dying out as the room sensed mounting conflict. It was clear that he was furious, and a strange power emanated from him, the kind that could quickly overtake a room. His hand was slung almost casually inside his robe, a clear indication that he would have no trouble whipping out his wand if necessary, and his expression of undisguised loathing conveyed that he would have no problem hexing the whole Slytherin table into cockroaches if they crossed him.

This was Harry at his most intimidating, and his most impressive. Hermione had always admired Harry for his ability to control a room, although Harry himself had never been aware of how influential he was, and she had even been a bit envious at times. Still, she had always loved him like a brother, and here, having him stand in front of her, trying to protect her, made her heart swell with affection. Even so, she couldn't stand the thought of him getting in trouble over her.

She was about to rebuke him, but Draco Malfoy had suddenly joined the action, accompanied by Crabbe, who seemed itching for a fight, and Hermione realized that this was probably not the time to be scolding Harry in public.

Pansy had shrunk away from Harry, but kept her eyes glued on Hermione, a look of contempt in her eyes. Hermione returned the stare steadily, and Harry glared at Malfoy.

"What's wrong, Potter," Malfoy sneered, "jealous of _Krum?_ I wouldn't be, if I were you, why I have no idea what Victor Krum is doing with that Granger. You'd think he'd have better taste—I would never associate with some lowly _mudblood—_ "

Ron finally found his voice.

"Shut up Malfoy, before I hex you to that wall over there," Ron barked, drawing his wand and pointing it threateningly at Malfoy, "and a good Permanent Sticking Charm might well do the trick… and then we can all sit here and watch Filch try to peel you off." The Gryffindors laughed heartily, but Malfoy continued to sneer, his eyes focused in on Ron's worn secondhand wand, the unicorn hair poking out of the tip, a brilliant white.

"With that wand, Weasley? I'd be surprised if you could still perform _alohomora_ with it—that wand of yours is only good for scratching your back now, although, I suppose you didn't know how to do much else with it anyway."

"Shut up," Hermione said fiercely, "and give me back my letter."

"Or what, you'll tell McGonagall on us?" Malfoy sneered.

Hermione's body filled with a flash of hot anger, and she did something she was not expecting. She knew Draco would not be publically intimidated, so she trained her eyes on Pansy Parkinson, and in a long, fluid motion, drew out her wand.

The entire dining hall was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Hermione Granger, Head Girl, Prefect—about to duel with another student?

"What are you going to do, throw that at us?" Draco barked out a derisive laugh, but Hermione could hear the tinge of panic behind it. She knew could probably beat the entire Slytherin table in a duel if she had to. She'd read all about dueling; she knew more spells than anyone else in their year, and she knew that Pansy was staring at the end of Hermione's wand with an expression of sheer terror. In her peripheral vision, she could see Ron gaping stupidly at her, his wand now pointed at the floor. Even Harry looked surprised, although when she darted her eyes to the side to look at him, he seemed to give a small, supportive nod.

"In about two seconds," Hermione began, her voice high and clear, turning her eyes back to Pansy, "I'm going to perform the Full Body-Bind Curse on the three of you and leave you tied to a tree in the Forbidden Forest," her voice was flat, threatening. She saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Parkinson swallow hard. "I'm sure you won't die," she continued, "I'm sure Hagrid will hear your screaming and come save you. Eventually," a hard, malicious grin tugged the corners of Hermione's mouth, "but the Forest can be quite nasty, I've heard."

The entire dining hall gaped, except for Harry, who pressed his lips together, suppressing an enormous grin. Pansy, already pallid and sickly-looking, grew even paler. Sensing defeat, and terrified of the forest, she threw the letter at Hermione's feet, and stormed out of the dining hall, seething, making strange choking noises that Hermione fervently hoped were suppressed sobs. She picked up the letter and tucked it into her pocket, and when she looked up, she noticed Draco was staring at her, his expression dangerous.

"This isn't over Granger," he began, his eyes steely, "I don't know how you could even _think—"_

"Actually, Malfoy," Hermione said, rolling the letter between her fingers, "it seems to me that this _is_ over." She turned on her heel, and she, Ron, and Harry strode out of the dining hall, leaving Malfoy's bitter expression on his mouth.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry marched out of the dining hall together, as people stared at their backs and gaped. They could hear the whispers behind them; some admiring, like their fellow Gryffindors, and others malicious, seething, like the Slytherins.

"So—to Hogsmeade?" said Harry, who looked deceptively happy. She could still see Ron looking sullen and sulky behind her, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before the letter from Krum was brought up again. She didn't want to set anything off.

"Yes—to Hogsmeade," she agreed, hooking her arm in Harry's, as Ron followed them closely.

"I must say," Harry began, "that was rather impressive, Hermione. I do think Pansy Parkinson ran out in tears." he chuckled.

"It was something I actually picked up from you," Hermione said, and Harry raised his eyebrows, "You have a way of controlling a room, you know," she elaborated.

"Me?" Harry said incredulously, "Absolutely not."

But as vehemently as he denied it, Hermione saw him flush slightly pink with pleasure.

The minute they reached Hogsmeade, Harry and Hermione they decided to visit Rosmerta for drinks when Ron abruptly muttered something muddled about "meet you later… something to do…just go ahead without me" and disappeared before they could object.

Harry and Hermione ordered two butterbeers, then sat down together at a table.

Hermione sighed heavily. There was no keeping any secrets from Harry, who was truly the only person she could ever talk to without reservations. Especially about Ron.

"Ron's not pleased about Krum," she said, and Harry nodded somberly.

"Hermione…" Harry began, and she could see the guarded look in his eyes, "I know this is between you and him, but it's been months, and he's crazy about you and just doesn't know how to say it."

"I know that already," she replied.

"I know you do. So why don't you two just sort it out? Get together? Haven't you wanted to, since first year when you wouldn't leave us alone?"

"When _I_ wouldn't leave _you_ alone?" She began incredulously, "That's something. Who kept running after me all year, begging 'Hermione please check this', and 'Hermione please help me with that…'" There was no tension, just playful mocking. Harry laughed.

"That's true. You've saved us more times than we can count. Really, we'd never get anything done without you. It doesn't get said enough." Harry said, and she could feel the earnestness in his voice.

That was the thing with Harry, and it had always astounded Hermione. She knew what his home life was like—or, at least, she had a decent enough of an idea how terrible the Dursleys were. It seemed impossible that someone as decent and kind as Harry could come out of those circumstances. It seemed impossible that he, after suffering years of abuse and oppression, could turn out to be someone who could voice his emotions so clearly, so candidly. And yet, here he was. Her best friend.

Her best friend, who at the moment was convinced that Ron and Hermione were an inevitable pairing. It annoyed her sometimes, how so many people thought the same thing. Sure, she had a crush on Ron their first few years at Hogwarts, but they were children then, and it wasn't fair to hold the feelings she had when she was twelve over her head for the rest of her life. She knew that Harry meant it in the best way, that he truly believed that Hermione felt the same way about Ron that Ron felt about her, but it wasn't necessarily true. It had nothing to do with _Ron_ and how wonderful he was—because, truly, he was wonderful—it was about herself. She wasn't sure how she felt, and until she could figure it out, it had seemed unfair to string Ron along in a pseudo-relationship just to appease the expectations of everyone around her.

She thought about the Yule Ball. She learned valuable lessons about herself that night. She had gotten dressed up, shrunk her teeth down, spent a horrendous amount of time and effort on her hair to make it lie smooth, and had gone with Viktor Krum, the famous Bulgarian Seeker, of all people. It was the first night that she had ever felt truly beautiful, like maybe her life was more than what she had previously expected. Why did she always think that cleverness and beauty were mutually exclusive? They weren't, she realized. Why did she think that just because she had dressed up and looked wonderful, that the world would bend to her will? It didn't—Ron had still been a jerk at the end of the night, effectively ruining everything for some reason. She had residual feelings about him back then, but after that, she had begun to realize that maybe that wasn't healthy for her. So instead of dwelling on a world of might-have-been's, she began writing to Krum.

Krum, who had been head-over-heels about her since he arrived at Hogwarts. Who had thought she was beautiful, long before she had shrunk her teeth or put on a pretty dress. Who had sat in the library for hours, watching her _read_ , of all things, trying to work up the courage to talk to her while his own fan club fluttered about the library, giggling. Who asked her to come visit him, an offer which she had to decline because she had to stay with the Order and help guard Harry's life. It was all immensely flattering, and Hermione began to think that maybe, she deserved to be flattered like that by a boy. Maybe she wanted to be pursued, rather than the one doing the chasing. She didn't want to have to run after Ron and have her heart broken again and again—and she liked Viktor. She wasn't sure how much, or in what way just yet, but she knew Viktor was smart, talented, and sweet. And she simply had not come to any conclusions about how she had felt about Ron yet.

She realized that she hadn't said any of this out loud to Harry, who was staring at her warily, waiting for some type of response.

She sighed heavily, thinking that Harry did not need to hear everything that had just transpired in her mind, "I honestly haven't made up my mind about Ron yet, Harry," His mouth popped open in surprise, but she pressed on, "those childhood crushes were a long time ago. And I don't think you should expect me to know exactly how I feel. I don't want to make Ron think anything that he shouldn't—I'd never want to lead him on like that. We are friends first, and no matter what, I'd like to at least keep it that way."

Harry paused, "Do you think you like Krum instead?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I haven't really decided; it's all too complicated."

"Jeez, Hermione, your love life is fairly complex, isn't it?"

His timing couldn't have been worse—Cho Chang walked into the restaurant, and Harry quickly averted her gaze, awkward to the core.

"Clearly not the only one, though, eh?" Hermione prodded. Harry gave her a meaningfully exasperated look, but then smirked.

"I guess that's true. Hey, we should meet Ron at Honeyduke's. He'll be waiting for us."

Hermione sighed again, and watched Harry drain his butterbeer in one gulp.

On their way out, they passed Draco Malfoy and his gang, and Malfoy gave Hermione a malicious glare that set the hairs on the back of her neck straight up. She steeled her gaze, and felt Harry's arm tighten around her protectively.

Ron was waiting outside Honeyduke's, gangly and awkward, the tip of his nose red with the cold.

"Hey Harry. Hey Hermione," he said, still sounding rather sullen.

"Hey, Ron," Harry said, deceptively cheerful again, "Want to go inside?"

"Hermione," burst Ron spontaneously, "can I talk to you out here for a second? Harry, you carry on without us; we'll only be a minute."

"Sure, Ron," Harry said hesitantly, giving Hermione a meaningful look before going inside.

Ron stood in front of her, his hands stuffed in his pockets, shrugging his shoulders, and it suddenly occurred to her how boyish he was. He really was just an exceptionally tall child—really, he must have already cleared six feet now, he hadn't even come of age and she was sure he wasn't done growing. The length of him gave him a looming, wispy, melancholic air, or maybe that was the fact that he was currently staring at her morosely with that long-nosed face of his.

"So, about Krum," Ron began, and Hermione inwardly flinched, "are you seeing him?"

"Well, no."

"But you've been writing him?"

"Yes, or at least, I had. But we sort of fell out of touch after a while. While we were staying with the Order at the Burrow, you know. It was sort of difficult to send correspondence to other people."

"Well," Ron began bitterly, "he clearly wants to keep in touch now."

He looked so hurt and sulky, and Hermione immediately thought of how unfair that was, that he felt entitled to stare at her like she had ruined him or something. They were never an item. Ron had never even remotely expressed interest in her, except for one time when he was delirious and accidentally broke up with Lavender Brown for murmuring Hermione's name in his sleep. Hermione had waited for him for so long, and now that she had begun moving on, Ron had started digging his heels in, refusing to be put away without destroying something in the process. Hermione had hoped dearly that this wouldn't cost their friendship, but she was starting to reconsider.

"Are you… are you going to write him back?" Ron was staring down at her, so hopefully. It was tiring her, really, making her annoyed. _Just say whatever it is you have to say_ , she thought, but Ron was still silent, waiting for her to reject Krum for him, for an advance that may never even come.

"Maybe," Hermione responded, and Ron's face immediately grew dark.

"Well, then," he grunted, "have fun with that."

He turned on his heel to leave her standing out there in the cold, and Hermione quickly felt furious.

" _Ron,"_ she barked, and he turned around to face her, shocked.

"W-What?" he stuttered.

She rounded on him, furiously, "What is the matter with you? What do you think you're doing, sulking around all the time, avoiding me, and then interrogating me whenever you feel like? Did you ever think of how I feel about all this—this— _mess_ we're in?"

Ron's eyes hardened, "Look, if you're not… _interested_ in me, Hermione, you'd better just say so. Go on running back to your _famous_ Krum, your _talented_ Krum, your _rich_ K—"

"Don't you dare, Ronald Weasley!" she bellowed at him, "Don't you dare insult me like that! Don't you think I didn't wait for you? Years, Ron, I spent years thinking about you. You never noticed me, and then when you did, you never did anything about it. You instead grabbed up _Lavender_. And I have every right to like whoever I want, to see whoever I want, to feel whatever I want—"

"Yes, I get it, you're a classy, independent woman," Ron said acridly. Hermione felt her eyes fill up with tears, "Let me know when you run for the blasted Minister of Magic."

And he turned and left her alone in the frigid air.

Hermione felt hot, angry tears pour down her face, and then quickly get frozen by the cold air. A second later, Harry jogged out of Honeyduke's, his hands full of candy, and stopped in front of Hermione, his eyes full of concern. She could see his eyes spasm with discomfort when he noticed her sobbing.

"Hermione…" he began awkwardly, and she knew that he wasn't equipped to handle tears, and that there was nothing he could say that could make her feel better.

"Just leave it, Harry," she interrupted, "I'm going back to my room—I think I just need to be alone right now," she said. She turned away from him before he could say anything.

As she turned, she saw Draco Malfoy staring at her, his face glowing in a smug, malicious grin that made her blood boil. Incapable of words, she hurried right past him quickly, and heard him chuckle behind her.

(Hello! Please do comment, I'd love your feedback, and to know what you think so far!

-Belstine)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

Back in her room, Hermione threw herself in her bed and sobbed into her pillow. It was senseless, she knew. An utter waste of tears. She had to steel herself—ultimately, what had happened tonight at Honeyduke's was bound to happen sometime, sooner or later. Finally, whatever had been simmering between Ron and Hermione had been brought to light, and it was ugly, and she didn't like it. In fact, she _hated_ it. She hated the look of loathing in Ron's eyes when she brought up Krum. She hated the fact that he simply thought he owned her, and that she somehow _belonged_ to him. She hated the look in his eyes, clear he was consumed and made delusional with jealousy. She hated that Ron had basically internally shirked all responsibility for their failed would-be relationship, and instead tried to guilt Hermione into thinking it was all her fault, that she was somehow wrong for having feelings for Krum, that she didn't have the right to like anyone other than Ron.

Hermione decided then that it was best if she and Ron kept their distance from each other. She would tell Harry about it when he came home from Honeyduke's—which reminded her—she hadn't even gone to the store! In her rage, she'd forgotten to get what she was most craving—the chocolates with the firewhiskey in them. She further blamed this on Ron.

She sulked in her room for most of the day, ignoring the knocks of Ginny and Parvati at the door, saying she'd rather be left alone. She read a lot more, losing herself in a textbook, and finally, when she had run out of things to read, she reached over and touched the calculus textbook her parents had bought her.

And then she remembered—she hadn't finished unwrapping her presents yet.

She pulled herself off the bed, and strolled over to the corner of her room where scraps of wrapping paper were sprawled over unopened boxes. She reached for one wrapped in pretty, metallic red paper. She read the tag.

 _Lots of Love, Ron_

Scowling, she threw the box into the corner. She needed no more reminders of Ron tonight.

Out of the corner of her eye, a shiny box glinted, capturing her attention. She thought she hadn't seen that present before, but it could have been that she simply hadn't noticed it. It was a rectangular box, and she read the tag eagerly:

 _To Dear Hermione, Love Viktor Krum_

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. It was a light, tin box wrapped in light blue paper—the same exact color as the dress she had worn to the Yule Ball.

Hadn't Krum sent a letter? She hadn't received any packages with the stern delivery owl, but honestly, how difficult would it have been for Viktor to send her a package, one that got lost in all the other gifts she was receiving? Still, she wasn't sure how she managed to miss a present of Viktor's—she was probably preoccupied studying for her exams—but still. She debated with herself for a minute, and then opened the package.

Attached to the lid of the box was a note that said _Your Favorites_ and when she opened the box, she found that it was filled with her favorite firewhiskey chocolates from Honeyduke's. Her heart warmed. Viktor, of all people, had been the one to get her the exact thing she had yearned for.

She looked at the chocolates again—it was a substantial sized box that was full to the brim with Honeyduke's finest chocolates, and they certainly weren't cheap. Not like Viktor couldn't afford nice things, and it wasn't like Hermione expected expensive gifts, but it was lovely for him to go out of his way to get her so much of what she liked.

Smiling, she picked up one of the chocolates. The heady smell of firewhiskey made her mouth water. She took a bite of the chocolate, relishing the warmth that flowed through her body at the taste.

Warmth washed through her body pleasantly at first, but then quickly intensified. Her heart began beating faster, almost as if it were inflating with emotions, and about to take flight and leap from her chest, with the amount it was fluttering. She could hardly stand it, so full of warmth and love, and affection. Suddenly, her mind seemed to shun all reasonable sense, and she shot to her feet and out the door, with only one name on her lips.

 _Draco Malfoy_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

It had stopped snowing, so most of Hogwarts had gone to the fields in a gigantic snowball fight. It had started as a few small groups of student, fighting within their own Houses, but as the mass of students became larger and larger, inter-House snowball fights began, and now the level of ratcheting enthusiasm and House pride on the snowy grounds rivaled that of the Quidditch House Cup.

Harry and Ron were in their rooms, unaware of the commotion through Hogwarts, both still hung up on Hermione. Harry had gently tried to persuade Ron to go talk to Hermione a few times, but he would not be convinced. He sat on his mattress, arms crossed, looking quite juvenile glaring down at Hermione's unopened present. Harry had already opened all of his presents, from his blank piece of cardstock from the Dursleys to Hermione's gift of a fine wool coat, to Dumbledore's gift of Bertie's Every Flavor Beans. Ron's mother had also sent her characteristic sweater (this one had a snitch knitted in the front) and a box of pasties.

Harry turned away from Ron, exasperated. He wanted to see Hermione, but he knew she probably wanted to be left alone. He would talk to her later, in the evening. He had to make sure his two best friends sorted this out. He wasn't sure if he'd survive the coldness between them.

Outside, a huge commotion had started, with students shouting and magically launching giant snowballs at one another. They could hear teachers' voices, trying to moderate the action without necessarily stopping it. There were playful shrieks and loud laughs outside, but in their room there was only silence and gloom. It was not shaping up to be a good Christmas.

Harry sighed heavily and wondered, _what on Earth is everyone screaming about?_

Draco Malfoy was engaged in a fairly violent snowball fight against a few Gryffindors who he did not recognize. The Slytherins had almost a warlike offensive strategy, and they were, by far, destroying the competition, if anyone was keeping score (which they were) or if anyone cared (and everyone did care, this was a matter of House pride, for Merlin's sake). Draco smirked as he landed a projectile straight in between Parvati Patil's eyelids, causing her to shriek and cover her face, and in the process, get hit with at least three more snowballs. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were having a much more amiable game across the grounds, but the Slytherins and Gryffindors were, once again, at each other's throats. Snape was nowhere to be found, and McGonagall was too busy trying to moderate everyone's behavior (Flitwick, Sinistra, and Sprout were taking too much enjoyment out of watching the Houses battle it out to stop any noticeable foul-play) to help the Gryffindors against sneaky Slytherins. Although, it wasn't like the Gryffindors were completely clean either, as many clandestine Jelly-Legs Hexes were sent across the field by Seamus, Colin, and Cormac McLaggen.

Out of nowhere, a small hand grabbed his forearm, sharp nails piercing into his skin. Draco turned abruptly and found Pansy Parkinson, grinning from ear to ear at him. It made her look strange, that grin of hers. It stretched her skin out oddly, and twisted her nose and mouth up so that she looked almost like a demented clown. It was unfortunate, really, because she actually looked much more attractive when she was angry or sullen than when she was pleased, and she wasn't much of a looker even then. He stared down at the painfully thin forearm, a product of overcompensation for her lacking appearance. The Parkinsons, as it was, were a lesser family of pure blood, and Pansy tried very hard to make up for it in other ways. It was quite sad, really, for one of the members of the primary pureblooded families to have such deficiencies, such insecurity. But whatever. It was hardly his concern.

"What is it, Pansy?" Draco snapped. Pansy took her hand off Draco's arm, her grin faltering slightly, but nonetheless present.

"I have your Christmas present," she said triumphantly, shaking with satisfaction.

They had to leave the field to avoid getting pelted with snowballs. They only narrowly missed a few, shot with uncharacteristic aim by Longbottom. Draco scowled in his direction.

"I got your Christmas present," he drawled idly, "The dress robes, remember? Thank you for those. Although they weren't as nice as the ones you got Blaise."

Pansy balked slightly at his jab, but she persisted, "Oh, no Draco, that was only one part of your present. The best is about to come. In fact, according to Astoria, your present is stumbling down the hallway, searching for you, like a blind fool."

"Pansy, what are you talking about?" Draco sighed irritably.

"I'm talking about," Pansy breathed, and her eyes held the hard spark of a maniac, "Miss Prefect Hermione Granger, running down the halls screaming your name, convinced she's in love with you."

Draco froze, his lips spreading in a cold smile, "Love potions, huh? From where?"

"Our favorite Gryffindor jokesters. I had Astoria pick up nearly every bottle she could find. You'd think they'd be more particular who they sell to, but I suppose they have to get as much spare change as they can find." Pansy snorted, "I mixed a whole bunch together to make sure it was strong enough, and added it to her favorite Honeyduke's chocolate—the kind with the firewhiskey in them, I heard her tell Potter at the dining hall today—addressed 'to _Dear_ Hermione, from _Victor Krum_ ' _!"_

Her voice raised to a high peal of maniacal laughter, and Draco couldn't help but join in. It was proof that the last person you wanted to threaten was a Slytherin, especially a Slytherin like Pansy Parkinson. She had a certain knack for underhandedness that could not go unappreciated. And he had to hand it to her—the girl worked fast. They glanced over at the students playing in the snow, and it seemed all the Gryffindors were too preoccupied with their snowball fight to pay attention to what their small Slytherin group was plotting, the teachers similarly diverted.

Right on cue, Hermione burst through the hall, blindfolded, shepherded by Astoria Greengrass, who was younger and much smaller than Hermione, and looked thoroughly uncomfortable with the current situation, especially since Hermione kept making unexpected spastic movements that threated to hit Astoria in the face if she wasn't alert.

"Oh, is he here? Is he? I think he is! Oh, please tell me!" Hermione exclaimed. Her eyes were blindfolded, but her cheeks were flushed red and she was grinning and giggling airily, "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ , Astoria, for agreeing to introduce me. Who knew you were so nice? To think—I've known him for _years_ now, but I never noticed—his strong jaw, his hair! The way the green on his Slytherin robes makes his grey eyes sparkle! And—he's _smart_ , second only to me in our year! And—and—he's just so _handsome—"_

Astoria was grimacing now, while Draco grinned and Pansy cackled with delight, "Well, here you are, Pansy. Here she is, like you asked." She gave Pansy a pleading look, clearly eager to be released from her task. Pansy dismissed the younger Astoria with a superior flick of her wrist, which Astoria crinkled her nose at. Astoria made a mental note—it would do Pansy much good later to keep in mind how much higher up the _Greengrass_ family was on the pureblood social scale than the _Parkinsons_. Still, Astoria left, quickly, eager to be away from the inevitable fiasco to come.

"Hermione…" Pansy started in a saccharine voice. Hermione, still blindfolded, furrowed her eyebrows. Without her eyesight, with her mind battling the effects of about fifteen different love potions at once, vestiges of her normal shrewdness boiled through.

"Pansy? What's going on?" Hermione demanded, "I—I—thought I was meeting…"

"Draco, yes!" Pansy interrupted, removing Hermione's blindfold with a flourish.

The effect on Hermione was instant. While, with her eyes closed, she battled the potions briefly, with her sight, with Draco Malfoy in front of her, Hermione appeared shell-shocked, shaking as if she had recently recovered from the effects of the Jelly-Legs Hex.

"Oh…" she said softly, her eyes as wide as saucers, staring at Draco, "Draco _Malfoy_."

She said the name with an odd type of reverence, the kind that Draco felt belonged to his name. _Malfoy_ , she formed the surname almost religiously. It was immensely satisfying to watch Muggleborn Granger treat him like some deity. Everyone else in the Slytherin house did, it was about time Granger joined the party, with her high-and-mighty, nose-in-the-air, prim ways.

She flushed and let out an almost maniacal giggle that most certainly did not belong to any Hermione they knew. It was noticeable enough to capture the attention of nearby Slytherins, and a few Gryffindors, who looked on confusedly. Draco drank in the sight of her, fawning over him, still giggling. This is what they reduced the Great Hermione Brightest-Witch-Of-Her-Age Granger to: an airheaded, simpering fool.

Draco's malicious laughter seemed only to please Hermione further. She batted her eyelashes at him and smiled in a very un-Hermione-ish way, and Draco would have found the expression pleasantly flattering, had it not been so jarringly _foreign_ on Hermione's face. Instead, he found himself staring at her in total disbelief, sniggering at her behavior, pushed to even cry with laughter thinking of her embarrassed reaction once the potions wore off. A small part of him wished that the potions would somehow become permanent, but that would land them all in trouble, and Potter would likely try to kill him. Not that he cared about Potter's response, but his mother had been insistent on him not getting expelled, which was highly likely in the event that Hermione's mental faculties became permanently impaired. He could only hope Pansy was smart enough to ensure the potions had no lasting effects.

Still, he found himself not caring about any of the pressing consequences surrounding him. In fact, he couldn't bring himself to care about anything at all as he basked in the flattering presence of Hermione's ogling stare, which continued to rake down his face and body appreciatively. He felt as strong as the brick building behind him, as invincible as Dumbledore in his prime.

"Draco," Hermione said, a shadow of seriousness crossing her face. Draco's laugher caught in his throat at the sudden change in tone. Pansy tensed with sudden terror, and the tension could be felt among all the onlookers: could Hermione have come to her senses? Could she be only seconds away from hexing them all into mice and feeding them to one of Hagrid's beasts, in her insatiable anger?

They suddenly realized how dangerous Hermione would become once she came to her senses. They could only hope the embarrassment crushed her beyond the point that she would feel any need to retaliate, that her peaceable nature kept her from wreaking havoc. A livid Potter and Weasley he could handle. A livid Hermione, with skills and cleverness to spare? A far more dangerous prospect.

But her eyes were only for Draco, "…can I talk to you? Alone, for a minute? It'll only be a minute, I promise!" she said, her eyes still filled with the potion-induced blankness that made her seem vacant and frighteningly un-Hermione. Draco's laughter filled his chest again, along with Pansy's, and sensing that he had a full Slytherin audience, he decided to give them a show.

"Oh, well, of course, Granger," he announced loudly. The Slytherins burst into rancorous taunts, jeering at Hermione and thumping Draco on the back. He felt a surprising bloom of pleasure when her eyes lit up, as if the thought of him granting her a second of his time was the greatest gift anyone could have gotten her.

 _Man,_ he truly hoped the love potion effects remained permanent.

He gestured for Hermione to lead the way, and she did, fairly gracefully and quickly, oblivious to the jeers and taunts and questioning looks. The love potion seemed to make her immune to everything other than Draco.

Draco wondered briefly where Potter and Weasley were. He knew about the fracture between Granger and Weasley in front of Honeyduke's, which had been, in his opinion, inevitable due to the fact that Weasley was wholly incompetent, and Granger was, although inferior through blood and decidedly insufferable, not a complete idiot. But still, he had expected the two boys to come swooping to her aid by now, and he had even anticipated a fun little duel that would have involved turning Weasley into an actual weasel (or at least some type of rodent, if he couldn't manage that) and hexing Potter to the ceiling, before locking Granger into a classroom until the potions wore off and she could think straight enough to use _alohomora_.

Draco wasn't sure where Hermione was taking him; but she pulled him past the throngs of people outside, drawing incredulous stares from people who didn't know what was going on. He tried to reassure him of his intentions with a trademark snarky grin, but he realized that they only became even more confused. He realized briefly that they probably looked like they were going to meet their teachers on official Head Boy and Head Girl business, or as prefects. It would have made more sense than Hermione accidentally ingesting fifteen love potions and believing herself in love with Draco. He didn't know why that disgruntled him so much.

She led him upstairs to— _her room?_ No, just the prefect's lounge, which was empty—everyone was out of their dorm rooms on Christmas afternoon. When he hesitated to step in alone with her, she grabbed his arm and yanked him inside, shutting the door behind her.

Draco was confused, wary, and quite curious. Granger still had the blank stare of someone who was given a heavy dose of sedatives, but her eyes still filled with some strange, obsessive form of admiration when she locked her eyes with him, and it churned his stomach with a strange combination of delight and discomfort.

Hermione smiled slowly, looking almost drunk, "Draco…" she said, and "I have to tell you something." She bit her lip, waiting for him to respond.

Draco sauntered to a chair and sat down, feeling the need to assert control over the room rather than stand in front of the door like a coward. "Go on, Granger. Enthrall me," he drawled again, hoping she couldn't hear the somewhat nervous hitch in his voice.

Granger smiled again, this time walking over to the couch by the fireplace. She stuck a hand underneath the couch, whispered a revealing spell, and her arm emerged with a bottle of firewhiskey.

Draco's words got caught in his throat. He didn't know Granger even _knew_ about that stash; never mind that she actually _used_ it. He grinned. He was collecting more and more ammunition to use against her later. Bless Pansy, this was the best Christmas he'd had in years.

"You know, people think I don't know about this…" she said, producing two glasses and pouring herself some firewhiskey, "but I do. I just can never catch them when they're _drinking._ " She grimaced, recalling her failure, "But it comes in handy a few times, I must admit. Today, for instance." She filled a second with a healthy dose, and it took Draco a moment to realize that it was for him.

Hermione approached him, gingerly handing him his glass, and Draco took a sip, feeling the burning warmth ripple through him, and it made him feel alive. Hermione was staring at him through her eyelashes, and the expression warmed Draco under his skin, tingling down to his fingertips.

No, it wasn't Hermione. It was the firewhiskey. That was it. Don't be ridiculous.

He'd never seen her like this before—uninhibited, free, and drinking illicitly. It was as though he'd uncovered a new page in her mystery, made even more interesting by the fact that he'd never known that the mystery even existed. Though it was all of the potions in her system that were fritzing her system out, making her act so unpredictably. Of course. There was no Mysterious Granger, only Granger. That was it. She was about as difficult to read a children's book.

Was she really going steady with Krum?

He'd never really asked himself that question before because he'd never really cared to—as though the private life of some mudblood brat with rat-teeth qualified as newsworthy information to him?—but he couldn't help but wonder now that they were here, alone, and he realized she was clearly no stranger to firewhiskey, given the way she knocked the drink back without even a grimace.

Hermione the Borderline Alcoholic. Who'd have thought?

Of course, with all the time she spent with Potter and Weasley, Merlin knew she'd probably need to come up with coping strategies.

But as Hermione poured herself drink after drink, some dormant, gentlemanly instinct from Merlin-knew-where urged him to stay her hands. "I think that's probably enough." He muttered, not sure why he bothered. If Hermione wanted to get plastered and possibly get her prefect status revoked, who was he to stop her?

But, once again, this was not Normal Hermione he was speaking to. Normal Hermione would have refused to be alone in the same room as him. He felt oddly responsible for her, though the motivation stemmed purely from self-interest: he didn't want to leave any lasting trails to him once this prank was over, and he didn't know how alcohol would react with all of the potions she had in her system. He'd have his fun now, embarrass her mortally, but overall, he didn't want to permanently harm her. Merlin knew her brain was her entire existence; letting her do something that would harm her future in her current brain-addled state was somehow close to killing her.

The fact that he found that concept utterly repellant spoke volumes about his future as a Death Eater, didn't it?

No. Such bitter thoughts were not welcome here. Hogwarts was his home, his safe place, his escape. The one place he was more-or-less insulated from the rubbish that harangued him from outside these walls. Death Eater. Dark Mark. Dark Lord. Dementors. Father Dearest shipped off to Azkaban for the rest of the foreseeable future. Here, in the prefect lounge, with his more-or-less drunk, muggleborn arch-nemesis who was clutching a bottle of firewhiskey like it had the answer to all of life's questions, it was almost easy to pretend his problems didn't exist.

"Draco…" Hermione began, her voice suddenly far more husky than it had been before.

Snapping out of his stupor, he turned his eyes back to her, perched as she was over the armrest of the chair he was sitting on, and whatever nonsense he'd been dwelling his prissy little heart on before burned away.

"What is it, Granger? Done admiring the artwork?" He drawled lazily, leaning back in his chair, his black-and-green Slytherin robes pooling around his feet.

Normal Hermione would have wrinkled her nose and made some prim comment about how repellant she found him. Firewhiskey Hermione, however, followed his movements with a kind of feline predatory observance that sent his pulse skyrocketing.

"What is it, Granger?" He repeated, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Hermione stared at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Then she shook her head. "No. I can't tell you."

"Why not?" It was stupid of him to argue with a drunk person, but he couldn't help himself.

"No," Hermione said with finality. "I can't tell you. You'd never be able to handle it."

"Whatever it is, I am sure I can handle it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Are you _sure?"_

" _Yes."_

"Are you _really, really su—"_

"Granger, spit it out!"

But Hermione only threw her head back and laughed, and some daft part of Draco noted how the warm light from the fireplace danced along the curls of her hair and gave the color staggering depth, how her skin glowed like it was backlit, how her laugh echoed off of the walls of the empty prefect's lounge like the sounds themselves were dancing with joy.

Merlin. His heart was hammering out of something other than mortal fear. That had never really happened to him before.

He decided he'd had far, far too much firewhiskey.

He rose from the chaise and took both glasses and the bottle of firewhiskey from Hermione, who didn't even protest, since she was now busy staring into the fire, her eyes glassy and mouth slack as she sank to her haunches and apparently admired the flames. She raised her wand and whispered a spell, and then the fireplace came alive with color, flickering jewel-toned flames dancing across the logs like bright silk flags. She grinned at her own handiwork, seemingly oblivious to anything else.

"Nice," Draco muttered despite himself, momentarily entranced by the fireplace himself. He ducked briefly under the couch and replaced the bottle into the stash, whispering a solid concealment spell to hide the contraband storage place.

When he popped his head back up, Granger was nowhere to be seen.

"Granger?" Draco asked.

It wasn't until he rose from his crouched position that he noticed the Hermione sprawled out on the floor in front of the hearth, her robes splayed across the floor like the skirt of a dress.

Draco would have assumed that Hermione had only passed out, but there was an unnerving, flaccid quality to her limbs that he didn't like one bit. When he approached her and pressed two fingers to her jugular, he felt a zinging terror at the weakness of her pulse.

Damn it. He should have never let her drink firewhiskey under the influence of love potions. Merlin, when he'd found out Pansy had mixed potions, he should have checked to make sure the combination was safe first, and dragged Hermione to Madam Pomfrey if it hadn't been. Pranking potions were supposed to be harmless and temporary, and didn't normally react badly with moderate amounts of firewhiskey, but exactly how many had Pansy mixed together? Merlin, they were all going to get expelled for this. If Dumbledore didn't murder him first, Draco's father would obliterate him.

If Hermione died because of this, Draco was going to have Pansy's head on a spike.

Draco tucked his arms under Hermione's shoulders and hauled her upright, dragging her out of the prefects lounge and swearing crudely enough to curdle milk.

He wasn't going to let her die.

He didn't have the mind to contemplate the conviction, so he only pressed on, dragging her through the long, empty hallways, desperate to find someone to help. As he turned a corner, he ran straight into Astoria Greengrass, knocking the younger girl over and sending her tumbling into the wall.

(Hello, lovelies! Soooooo I know this chapter was kinda long and a lot of stuff happens, and maybe you liked it and maybe you didn't, so please let me know what you thought! I'm really open to ideas, criticism, and suggestions. I hope the characters feel real to you, and that you are getting an idea of characters' personalities and how they will change. I have a thing for Byronic heroes, so you see, the Dramione is strong in this one.

And I know the ending feels kind of abrupt- I wasn't really satisfied with how I ended this chapter either, but with the way the action was headed, I didn't want to make the chapters too achingly long.

Lots of love!

-belstine)


	4. Chapter 4

**(Baby Chapter! Yeah, I know, I just decided to post what I had while I work on the stuff that comes next. Enjoy!)**

Chapter Four:

Astoria Greengrass had always prided herself on her levelheadedness. She'd always been clearheaded and capable—an uncommon combination among pureblooded witches—and they were traits that, in conjunction with her burgeoning skills as a witch, had always served her well, during both normal life events (like exam weeks and school drama) as well as in abnormal ones (like interactions with the Dark Lord and the prospective future as a Death Eater).

Tumbling into a harried, terrified Draco Malfoy corralling an alcohol-poisoned Hermione Granger around the building on an otherwise uneventful Christmas afternoon was another one of those abnormal instances.

So she took one look at the pair and said, in a perfectly calm, level voice: "Let me help."

She didn't wait for Draco to agree or argue. Astoria tucked her arms under Hermione's shoulders on the other side of Draco, and together the pair of them made their way down the hall, dragging the inebriated girl between them.

When Astoria ducked into a hallway leading to the Slytherin dorms, Draco snapped. "What are you doing? We have to take her to Madame Pomfrey."

"With what explanation? Do you want to get expelled? If Dumbledore or Snape found out about this, we are all done for," Astoria hissed.

When Draco paused, Astoria sighed. "I can help her. I have some spare tonics, and I saved the labels on the love potions Pansy used, so I can make the antidotes. Or you can make them, considering you're Snape's protégée."

Silently, almost grudgingly, Draco helped Astoria drag Hermione into an empty classroom. To her everlasting credit, Astoria was quick and collected when they reached the empty potions classroom they were headed for, dumping Hermione on a table and making quick work of the ingredients necessary for the potions. Draco cast a _muffliato_ outside the door so no one heard them.

"There are four different brands of potion here, of varying degrees of intensity, so we have to make separate antidotes for them. Draco, you cover as many as you can, and I'll cover the others when I get back."

"Where are you going?" Draco demanded.

"Hermione's retching. It's probably best she gets it out of her system," Astoria said shortly, already moving towards the Gryffindor girl curled up on the bench and helping onto her side, a wastepaper basket in Astoria's hand. The sight of it almost made Draco ill.

Draco only nodded as Astoria ushered him towards a line of waiting cauldrons. Once he was in front of them, however, his hands moved automatically. This was easy, Draco assured himself. Making potions, like Snape had taught him. And the antidotes were straightforward. He just had to churn them out before Hermione went critical. If she wasn't critical already. Damn it.

This part of the school would be virtually abandoned of teachers and students until school started up again, but there was no accounting for Peeves, or the ghosts, or Filch. Or even Snape, who was nothing short of a looming, greasy-haired ghost in his own right. It was not unlike him to drop by the classroom just to check in. They had to get out of here fast.

Draco churned out three separate antidotes in record time, setting multiple cauldrons up at once, and the moment one had cooled enough, Astoria lifted the cup and gently helped Hermione swallow the antidote, one sip at a time. Hermione was sallow and downright frightening, and she was perched in Astoria's lap, in the easiest position for Astoria to feed her. It went on like that for a while, with Draco sending numerous antidotes her way and Astoria helping Hermione swallow them. After what seemed like fifty lifetimes, Draco felt Astoria's hand on his forearm. Hers was so different from Pansy's. While Pansy's hand had been brittle and sharp, with stinging bones and sharp nails, Astoria's was warm and gentle, and her grip was firm.

"Let's switch off on antidote duty." Astoria said.

"What? Why?"

"Draco, your hands are shaking, and you're freezing cold."

She was right. They were. He was practically shivering.

"Go help Hermione drink the antidotes. She already looks much better, but she's coming down with a low-grade fever, and she's still weak and pretty much unconscious. Go help her."

She was so confident, so calm, that Draco saw absolutely no reason to refuse or argue. He swapped positions with Astoria, cradling Hermione in his arms the way Astoria had and holding the last antidote to her lips. Merlin, she looked so much better, her coloring close to normal, her skin no longer clammy. Hermione sipped the antidote down gingerly, and when she'd taken the final sip, her eyes flew open, scaring the shit out of Draco. Thankfully, the cup of the last antidote was empty; otherwise it would have sloshed everywhere when he jerked his arm.

Those dark eyes narrowed briefly. "Malfoy?" Hermione murmured.

"Er…yes." Draco said awkwardly, and he saw Astoria roll her eyes in his peripheral vision. He ignored her.

Hermione's eyes rolled back in her head, and she ducked into the realm of unconsciousness with a small, contented sigh.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five:

Hermione was having the strangest dream.

First, there was the fact that she couldn't remember anything that happened after she had a spat with Ron outside of Honeyduke's. Had no recollection of reaching her room. No memory of what she'd done once she'd gotten back.

Goodness, her mind was truly frazzled by this whole Ron mess, wasn't it?

Her dreams were twisted and strange, lands of colorful flames and the familiar burn of firewhiskey and— _Draco Malfoy?_ Whatever. She didn't have the inclination to delve into her subconscious for meaning behind the messages.

She saw his face up-close—the sharp lines, the high, flat cheekbones, narrow nose, pointy chin and slight widow's peak of white-blond hair, the steel grey eyes that gleamed with, oddly enough, an emotion other than pure hatred.

She'd never seen that expression on him before, and she had to say that the relaxedness did wonders for him, showing off the handsome lines of his face. In the dream, she'd burned with desire, and had almost kissed him. And she'd remembered how she'd liked him all those years ago, back in their first year at Hogwarts. After he'd proven himself a bigot and a bully, she'd dropped the possibility of them being together. It had stung terribly, but she'd gotten over it, in time. But as she gazed at this strange dream-form Draco Malfoy, the disappointment hit her once again, feeling more or less like a cannonball to the gut.

It was a shame, really, that he had been wasted on the Dark Lord. A damned shame.

After that episode, she'd felt the burn of firewhiskey morph into a far more feral, painful burn in her stomach and then her throat. She'd been hot and cold at the same time, her mind reeling with confusion. And then she felt nothing.

It took her a while before she realized she'd become ill. But the wall of unconsciousness was impenetrable, and as havoc wracked through her body, she could do nothing but suffer through it. What sort of illness made one feel this way? Certainly nothing she could have picked up at the Three Broomsticks. Was it some sort of magical virus?

It was with sheer willpower that Hermione summoned her memories back from the abyss they'd been tossed into by whatever sickness she was wrangling. And then the blurry, up-close vision of Draco Malfoy suddenly had context.

Love potions.

Oh, Hermione was livid. Truly, she was. If she had any semblance of control over her body, she would have blown Malfoy to bits. A bit of mean-spirited ragging was one thing. But drugging? That was illegal. That was… wrong. Evil. She knew she shouldn't have expected any better from the likes of Malfoy, but it shocked her just the same. But she was trapped in the crevices of her own fractured mind, and couldn't emerge or do anything until the storm had passed. If it ever would. Merlin, she felt like shit.

She blamed herself for being so foolish. She should have stuck to her gut instinct and thrown those firewhiskey chocolates out the window. She should have known better than to assume Viktor Krum would have sent them to her.

There was a girl's voice—lovely, lilting, with a soft, aristocratic inflection—coming from somewhere around her. It was vaguely familiar to her, though she didn't know why. And then soft, gentle hands were cradling her. _The girl with the gentle voice_ —she was holding Hermione. Helping, she realized as a warm liquid slid down her throat. She was giving her antidotes, Hermione realized as the warm liquid cleaned up the burning filth that raged inside of her.

Hermione slowly came back up out of her muddled mind, determined to open her mouth just to thank the kindly nurse who had helped her, just as those feminine hands disappeared, and another set of hands took their place. The hands were still soft, but larger and firm, and they gripped her around the waist and behind her neck. A man.

She opened her eyes once, and a sea of hazy storm-grey greeted her. Two grey eyes, peering down at her from a pale, pointy face wearing an expression of absolute terror.

"Malfoy?" She croaked. She couldn't gather enough breath to form the plethora of curses on her lips, couldn't swing her arm up to punch him, couldn't even move as she gazed up at him blearily.

The grey eyes relaxed a bit, and the beautiful color of them was the last thing she saw before darkness pulled her under again.

Harry was slowly going crazy.

Ron was still livid, and honestly, even though Ron was his best mate, the brooding was driving Harry up a wall. Merlin, Ron was almost of age, for crying out loud, and so was Hermione. They were two, mature, almost-adults, but more than that, they were friends. Ron had to understand that. And considering the way he'd come on to Hermione outside of Honeyduke's, he really should be the first to go and apologize.

"Ron, mate, I think you need to go talk to Hermione."

"Why? She's made her decision. So have I. There's nothing left to talk about."

Harry tilted his head back towards the ceiling and let out a groan of pure desperation.

"Fine. You know what? Sulk in here if you want. I'm going to go enjoy the rest of my bloody Christmas."

"Have a damned great time, mate."

"Yeah, you too."

Harry stormed out, not bothering with anything more than a passing, polite smile to Neville and Seamus, who sat together with two mugs of eggnog, and looked at Harry hopefully, as though he might join them.

Harry stormed the grounds, looking for Hermione. He'd tried the library first, knowing she liked to study when she got upset, but the place was abandoned. He ran into Parvati, and when he'd asked where Hermione was, she'd only shrugged and said that Hermione had asked to be left alone, but last she checked, wasn't in her bedroom anymore. She had no clue where Hermione could have gone.

Harry checked Hagrid's hut at the edge of the forest, but when he arrived there, Hagrid only shook his large head somberly, concern flickering in his eyes, after Harry asked if Hermione had stopped by.

"'Av'nt seen' er since yesterday," the large man muttered. "Evry'thin all righ?"

Harry mumbled some casual response, despite the fact that his heart was thudding in his throat, if only to keep from worrying Hagrid. _There's a million places Hermione could go,_ he assured himself.

 _Like where?_ His inner Hermione asked.

 _Maybe she went back to Honeyduke's without them._ She had been talking about firewhiskey chocolates earlier today, and with what had happened with Ron, she hadn't had the chance to go inside and buy them.

But Hermione never just _disappeared_. That was Harry's specialty. She was steady. Meticulous. Safe. She always, always adhered to a strict code when it came to going out, especially alone, and especially now, with the rise in Death Eater activity and the constant threat of Voldemort. And it was completely against her nature to go to Hogsmeade by herself, without at least taking Parvati or Ginny or Lavender along, if she couldn't stand the sight of him and Ron for a while.

If Hermione wasn't back by curfew, something was seriously, horrifically wrong.

When Hermione fully returned to consciousness again, her first thought was _wow, St. Mungo's went through a whole lot of redecorating._

She almost smacked herself for that bit of stupidity, but her arms felt like they'd been injected with lead, and her head hurt like there were sparklers being lit in her skull. Just dragging her eyes across the dark green room sent spikes of pain shooting through her skull.

She took a deep breath. "Hello?" she murmured, her voice breathy and hoarse.

A familiar girl's face appeared before her, and Hermione blinked a few times before she recognized it.

"Astoria Greengrass?"

The younger girl smiled at Hermione gently, her green eyes solemn and concerned. "I'm glad you're finally awake. You gave us a bit of a scare."

"Us? Who's _us?"_ Hermione demanded, her throat like sandpaper, biting back a hacking cough.

"Draco and myself," Astoria explained.

Hermione stiffened, remembering Draco's face as it appeared above her, his expression tense. "You tell Draco Malfoy that if he gets anywhere near me, I'm going to hex his legs off of his body." Once she could move her arms well enough to use her wand, that was. Not like she was going to tell Astoria that.

"That would be a particularly difficult task," Astoria replied, her voice level, "considering this is his room."

 **Hellooooo... POV shifts everywhere, I know. Hope that didn't annoy you.**

 **This chapter basically sets up the next chapter (which I'm currently working on, so don't you worry, lol). Next update may be a taaaaad bit delayed, so I apologize in advance.**

 **hope you like it so far! let me know what you think!**

 **-belstine**


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